


Rage At The Stars

by xdandelionxbloomx



Series: Tired Symphony Verse [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: I'll riot if he doesn't get a proper part in the show at some point I love him, JASKIER MEETS HIS HORSE OKAY, Jaskier gets injured, M/M, Zoltan is here, but listen, but the second half picks up pace a little, lots of feelings, low-key mention of Geralt's Gwent addiction in the game (it's a card game), lowkey has a lot of horse scenes I'm sorry, soooo, the background is important for the next part, this is needed as context for the next one so the beginning is slow, war is lurking over the horizon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdandelionxbloomx/pseuds/xdandelionxbloomx
Summary: The horse was pacing. In the moonlight, he truly looked the part of his name - a ghost among the living. He was light on his feet, too, and Jaskier tried to imagine a saddle on his back.He couldn’t.Jaskier took a few steps closer, lingering a couple of feet away from the fence. The gelding paused in his pacing to look at him, standing utterly still across the pen. He pawed at the ground suddenly, but when Jaskier didn’t speak or move he calmed.They watched each other like that for a few minutes, just breathing.-Vignettes of life together - an old friend visits, Jaskier meets his horse, and some serious conversations are (sort of) had.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Tired Symphony Verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597723
Comments: 107
Kudos: 1361





	Rage At The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. Y'all I seriously can't-- I've gotten so many new followers on tumblr and so many comments and kudos that I don't know what to do with myself. You all are so wonderful and I promise I'm getting back to each of you, I just haven't had the time (as evidenced by how delayed this is). I'm posting this at 1 AM and I have a haircut at 8 AM so please forgive any errors - I was only able to go over it once. 
> 
> Some warnings: Jaskier gets hurt pretty badly, but he's okay in the end. Horse abuse in the past. Lots of avoiding the topic of mortality. Jaskier has a pretty intense nightmare - it's a brief description but it's not pretty. 
> 
> I know the pacing in this one is a little odd. I was having a bit of a block in the beginning because I know how I want the fourth part to go - my brain was struggling to focus to write this one. The second half is the better part, but you need the first half for context so hopefully y'all can get through some of the slower parts!! 
> 
> (Also I might have been a middle school horse girl - uh-oh, I'm so sorry.)

Jaskier didn’t even really like holding his blade when it came down to it. 

Having said that… he’d at least learned to hold it correctly. 

It wasn’t necessarily something that he’d sought out himself - he’d just caved to the pressure around him. It hadn’t only been Geralt herding him towards the training courtyard with Ciri and Zofia, it had been Vesemir and occasionally Eskel if it really came down to it. What had been a couple of sessions that were light-hearted became something more intensive and serious. 

In some ways, Jaskier understood. Though they wouldn’t say so, they worried for him. He could see it in Geralt’s eyes when they traveled - he could see it in Vesemir’s eyes when he’d fall during training, getting bruised or scraped up. 

He understood, but that did not mean he didn’t try to weasel his way out of it. Especially when Lambert was around - he hated the comments thrown from the side. (He liked to think it was Lambert’s special talent - getting beneath skins.) 

Most days he couldn’t manage to get away and would be submitted to training alongside Ciri and Zofia - not that he entirely hated it. He liked seeing their progress and he loved to watch them get excited any time they dodged correctly, or parried a surprise move. Zofia especially - there was always something terribly triumphant in her gaze when she’d fend off Geralt. 

Jaskier didn’t share that triumph. 

The trouble was that Jaskier had never _wanted_ to be a fighter, not in that way. Something about picking up a weapon made his stomach turn if he let himself think about it. He would be better off if he did so, he knew that - it wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about it before, it was just-- 

Jaskier worked _hard_ not to turn the bitter creature inside of him loose. The thought of giving it any sort of power was terrifying. He didn’t want to be aware that he could strike out like that - accurately and with enough force to actually do damage.

The first time he reacted on instinct alone in training--

He’d twisted out of Geralt’s hold and managed to push him back, blade pointed towards his throat without even _thinking_ , Jaskier hadn’t-- Zofia had yelled her approval, distracted from her own lesson, but Jaskier had dropped the blade like it was on fire. He’d stumbled back, hands curled into fists, meeting Geralt’s gaze for only a moment. Geralt, who was grinning like wolf that he could be, approval clear in his gaze that made Jaskier’s skin crawl. 

Jaskier had loudly declared he was done for the day and left without even picking up the blade - it wasn’t that he didn’t want it back, it was special because Geralt had gotten it for him, but he had scared himself. Regardless of how he was aware that it was necessary for him to continue to be a traveling companion with Geralt, it still made a certain kind of fear creep up his spine and wrap around his throat. 

To be a capable fighter made him worried in a way he couldn’t explain to Geralt, one of the few things he couldn’t put into words. (So he didn’t, he’d found a way to avoid everyone until dinner.) 

That, however, made dinner hard to sit through and the bath later even worse. He’d sat behind the tub on a stool, wrapped in one of Geralt’s tunics as he ran his fingers through the witcher’s hair, working out the tangles best he could with his fingers. 

Eventually a warm hand reached up to wrap around one of his own, gentle. 

“What’s wrong?” Came Geralt’s rumble, and Jaskier pressed his lips together, brows pinching. 

“Nothing.” Jaskier murmured, and Geralt tugged at his hand until Jaskier’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, chest leaning against him. Geralt’s tunic was getting damp, but the witcher didn’t seem to care much, thumb brushing back and forth over Jaskier’s hand. 

“You’re quiet.” Geralt murmured, and Jaskier closed his eyes as the witcher leaned his head back against his shoulder thoroughly soaking the tunic with his wet hair. 

“I can be quiet.” Jaskier tried to reason and Geralt huffed a soft breath through his nose. Such a small thing, but Jaskier knew it was skeptical. Any other might have scoffed. 

“Rarely. You hum, or tap your fingers, or strum your lute. You make noise of some sort.” Geralt spoke, but it didn’t sound upset. “When you’re silent, you’re-- Something is wrong.” He murmured, and then turned his head to nuzzle against Jaskier’s jaw. “You didn’t hurt me. Didn’t even come close to it.” 

Jaskier hated that Geralt knew it had something to do with that. He didn’t say anything for a while longer, letting himself lean into Geralt’s solid presence. He pulled back only to help Geralt rinse his hair. He grabbed the witcher a towel afterwards, pulling off the wet tunic to grab himself a towel as well. 

“I don’t like thinking I could.” Jaskier didn’t look at him at all, despite the heavy gaze he could feel. Warm, calloused hands slid up his sides and settled at his front, Geralt a steady presence at his back. 

“You couldn’t.” Geralt’s voice is warm, amused, but there’s a note of caution all the same. Jaskier grimaced, hands hovering in the air before he gave in and let them rest on the arms wrapped around him. 

“You’re a witcher, I get that. But what if-- I don’t know, Geralt, what if I get paired to help train the girls and I’m not fast enough to stop a reflex? What if someone makes me angry enough and I lash out before I think about it? What if I react and hurt someone that doesn’t--” Jaskier had gone tense, but Geralt’s low rumbling slowly registered against his back. It made him breathe out shakily, Geralt taking the time to press his nose to Jaskier’s temple. “I’ve never reacted like that before.” 

Geralt was quiet. Not unusual, so Jaskier just turned his head towards the witcher’s, nuzzling back at him. “You wouldn’t, then.” The words were quiet and careful. “You’re learning to react, yes, but you wouldn’t do those things.” Geralt carefully turned Jaskier around in his arms, rubbing his hands up and down the bard’s arms. “I _do_ know you, Jaskier.” His voice made Jaskier’s heart melt and he nodded slowly, forcing himself to meet Geralt’s golden eyes. “You’d sooner turn that blade on yourself than you would hurt Zofia. Or Ciri. And if you’ve lived around Lambert this long without punching him once, then you’d never reach for a weapon first.” His voice was a low, rolling thing. Rarely did he ever say so much at once and Jaskier soaked it up, moving a hand to brush fingertips against Geralt’s jaw. 

“I have a--- there’s something not good in me, Geralt. It waits--” Jaskier moved his free hand to curl it into a fist near his stomach. “Somewhere down here, just-- waiting.” Geralt hummed a low noise and reached for the hand that Jaskier had balled into a fist, tugging it away from his body and instead bringing it up to his mouth where he placed a kiss to the bard’s knuckles. 

“Everyone does.” Geralt said, and Jaskier just stared, uncertain of how that was supposed to make him feel any better. Geralt’s brows furrowed and he brushed his thumb back and forth over the back of Jaskier’s hand, obviously working through what he intended to get out. Jaskier gave him his time - Geralt had taught him patience like no other. “You tame it.” The witcher explained. “I fight monsters. You write. Write about it.” Geralt told him and Jaskier breathed out a low sigh. 

“Okay.” Jaskier said, finally, almost resigned, and did not say that it would be sad - that he would only play it for himself. He had a feeling that it wasn’t meant for others. Geralt leaned to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“The writing can wait until tomorrow, though. Come.” And Geralt tugged him away to bed. 

+++

Roach tossed her head and Jaskier huffed - “Look, I _know_ it’s not your favorite, but these tangles are ridiculous.” He informed her, scratching at her neck and carefully working the comb through her mane with his free hand. It was a gentle tug that parted the hair slowly, until it caught and Jaskier had to put both his hands to the task of untangling the knot he’d found. “You’d think he ran you through thickets all day every day.” 

Jaskier had escaped to the stables when there was a break in training and he hadn’t come back out, the knife a heavy reminder where it sat in the sheath at his hip. It was a near constant weight (both on his mind and body), something he couldn’t quite escape these days. 

In some tiny, miniscule way he was beginning to understand Geralt’s hesitation in letting people close a little more. 

Roach craned her head around and knocked it against him as if sensing him getting lost in thoughts. He huffed a soft laugh - “Okay, okay, girl. Let me get through these tangles - how do you feel about a song?” He grinned at the snort, how quickly she turned her head away from him - grumpy, just like her master. 

Jaskier ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, thinking through the tunes he’d been working on. He hummed gently, the words were something private, fears that he’d finally given to the air with encouragement from his witcher - his witcher who hadn’t heard the song and most likely never would. 

It was a sad and wandering thing, and Roach stilled at the sound of it, her ears swiveling back to listen. 

The clash of swords started up again in the courtyard and he glanced away from her, hands slowing in their work. 

“Watch your stance, someone will be able to knock you back like that.” Vesemir’s voice drifted to him and Jaskier’s lips pulled into a briefly melancholy smile. 

It didn’t stay that way long. 

“Who’s that?” Zofia’s curious tone carried as well, though Jaskier could hear the fear twisted up in it. Jaskier’s heart stopped for an instant, hurrying to the doorway of the barn, the comb still in his hand as he peered around the corner. 

The tension that had taken his shoulders was loosening almost immediately. 

“Geralt!” The familiar gruff voice came (the favor from Novigrad all that time ago), filled with the excitement that he usually had to see old friends, despite the exhaustion that Jaskier could hear underneath it. 

Jaskier wandered out of the barn in time to see Geralt grasping Zoltan’s hand and shaking it. 

“Zoltan!” Jaskier called from his place at the barn and the dwarf lit up. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to gain such favor with the other, but he couldn’t say that he had any complaints. Zoltan was a good friend to have in easy times, and a better friend to have in the hard ones. 

“Jaskier!” The dwarf pushed past Geralt to tug him into a hug that Jaskier had to bend a bit at the waist to embrace, but it was worth it. The dwarf pulled back and smacked his back, a hearty greeting that had Jaskier laughing - pulled from the dark place his mind had been wandering. 

“Hope you don’t mind me stopping by. Got a bit of a problem that I thought maybe you could take care of. Any way you want, really. Just get the damn devil off my hands.” Zoltan made his way back to the cart pulled by the stocky, heavy set horse he’d been driving when he arrived - it was only then that Jaskier really processed the full scene of his arrival.

Behind the cart was something he wasn’t sure he was witnessing. 

“Geralt--” Jaskier started, and circled _widely_ around the cart to get a better look at the horse that was pawing the ground, covered in patches of pink scarred skin, ears pinned to a slender neck, dark eyes rolling. “Gods, do you--” 

Zoltan grunted and put his hands on his hips - “Close your mouth before you catch flies, bard.” Said fondly, but firm as was Zoltan’s way. “I won’im in a card game. Some shit caught the devil and tried to tame ‘im. Castrated the poor bastard.” He shook his head. “A damn shame.” 

Jaskier turned wide eyes on Geralt - Geralt who looked entirely unimpressed, as if he didn’t have a clue. 

“This is the Ghost of Redania!” Jaskier blurted, waving a hand at the pure white gelding that chose that moment to toss his head, testing the bridle that was tied to the cart. 

“The title’s long lost. Devil’s pretty much worthless as a gelding. He’s just a pain in my ass now. Figured you could let’im loose in those pastures of yours if he’ll play nice with the mares - or you could turn him loose in the mountains.” Zoltan rolled his shoulders, making his way over to the cart. 

Zofia and Ciri reached them about that time, Vesemir trailing behind with a severe expression. Jaskier glanced at him before turning his gaze back on the horse. 

“There’s at least five songs dedicated to him alone. You know that, right?” Jaskier managed, still processing. 

“I _know_.” Zoltan rolled his eyes - “But you try doing anything with the terror and let me know how it goes, yes? It’s not worth the effort. He’s feral as they come - might as well let him live it out.” The dwarf made his way towards the cart and the gelding snapped at him, making Zofia startle. 

“Fuck.” Geralt muttered, reaching out to hook fingers around the back of Zoltan’s armor. He tugged the dwarf back a few steps out of reach of the horse. “How’d you even bridle him? Or tie him?” 

Sheepish silence. “Might have drugged his feed.” He didn’t look anyone in the eyes and Jaskier ran a hand through his hair. 

Ciri had braved getting close enough to pet the stocky horse’s muzzle, peering around it to look at the agitated gelding. 

“Alright.” Geralt finally said, when no one moved for a solid fifteen seconds. 

The witcher took a step around the dwarf towards the horse and immediately the gelding reared back, lifting forelegs off the ground, something like a guttural shriek escaping. The horse tried to jerk away, but the bridle yanked the gelding’s head and forced him back to four legs. 

Geralt reached his hand out, muttering something under his breath - 

Jaskier recognized that motion. The horse immediately tossed his head before stilling, breathing heavily. Axii, then - Jaskier hated that power the most. It led to a lot of moral questions, no matter how many times it had gotten their asses out of trouble. It just didn’t seem _right_ to influence minds - although it _had_ been necessary before to prevent worse violence. 

“It won’t last long.” Geralt informed, untying the reins and tugging the stumbling horse along with him. Jaskier hurried to fall into step beside him. 

“You’re going to turn him loose?” Zofia asked, trailing behind. Jaskier glanced at her before at Geralt, searching his expression. 

“The solitary pen.” Geralt pushed himself into a jog, the horse’s ears swiveling back to be pinned against his neck. The gait became less fumbling and when they reached the high fence and the gelding snapped at Geralt. Geralt ducked, but only barely and slammed the gate shut behind the horse. The reins hung loose as he took off into a run, circling the pen, taking in the high fence as if trying to judge if he could jump. The gelding didn’t, rearing and making that horrid sound a couple of times before settling with pawing at the ground. 

“Geralt--?” Jaskier started and the witcher rolled his shoulders. 

“M’fine.” Geralt answered, staring at the gelding and then turning his gaze on Zoltan. Afterwards, he turned a firm glare on Ciri. “No.” He said, although she hadn’t said a word yet. 

Jaskier turned to glance between Zofia and Ciri, seeing similar expressions. Now _that_ would be a problem. 

“You can’t leave the bridle on him.” Zofia finally spoke up and Jaskier immediately shook his head. 

“We can and we will until we can figure out a way not to risk losing a chunk of flesh.” Jaskier turned his gaze on Zoltan. “Don’t know if I should thank you or not, really. Never thought I’d see him with my own two eyes, but…” _At what cost_ , didn’t get a chance to come out. The dwarf seemed to understand anyway. 

“Least you can write a song about it.” Zoltan joked and Jaskier’s gaze darted back to the pen where the gelding stood in the center, craning his head this way and that as if to look for a weakness. 

“Perhaps.” 

+++

Jaskier opted to sit with the girls at dinnertime. 

This was mostly because he knew that Geralt probably wanted to catch up with Zoltan and as much as he liked the dwarf, he didn’t share the same past that he and Geralt did. It was best to leave them to catch up about that first and maybe he’d pop in towards the end. 

For now - 

“Vesemir says forktails live in the mountains.” Ciri was looking at him with that earnest expression that always cut to Jaskier’s core. 

“What we’re saying is you can’t just turn him loose out there. He’s scary, but he’s not a monster. He couldn’t fight off a forktail.” Zofia said, firmly, and then proceeded to shovel a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth, meeting his gaze the entire time. Living at Kaer Morhen had brought out a fierce side in Zofia - the more she learned, the more confident she became. In some ways, she reminded him hauntingly of Lambert, but Jaskier was trying very hard to weave some softness into the strength she was building. In some ways Ciri helped with that - they balanced each other. 

Jaskier pursed his lips, pushing a piece of rabbit around on his plate in thought. “I’m not sure _what_ we’ll do, really.” He admitted, and lifted his gaze from his fidgeting. “He’s no monster, that’s true, but he’s very dangerous right now. At least to people like _us_.” Jaskier gestured at the three of them with his fork, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“Half those scars are from _people like us._ ” Ciri spoke up, her voice unexpectedly bitter. Jaskier’s brows jumped and he turned his gaze on her. “The long ones - the ones on his sides. Spurs. Some of the noblemen wore them to war - and races. Someone used them too roughly on him.” Ciri set her plate aside, breathing out a heavy breath. 

“I--” Jaskier faltered, brows furrowed. “Girls,” It was gentle and he tipped his head, trying to implore them to listen. “The Ghost of Redania is no joke. He’s murdered men, stolen mares from stables - he’s incredibly intelligent. I’d wager furious, too.” He set his plate aside as well, unable to finish eating with his stomach twisting as it was. 

“Men who hurt him, I’d be just as willing to wager.” Zofia retorted, around a mouthful of food. Since she’d no longer _had_ to adhere to manners, she’d become far more like the witchers than Jaskier was entirely pleased with. It made her happy, though, took her away from that dark place so he never corrected her for that. Zofia’s eyes were dark, a fire in them that Jaskier recognized from his own reflection. 

“Zofia--” 

“Can he be blamed?” She blurted, voice raised a bit. Jaskier flinched before he could contain it, gritting his teeth afterwards as she lowered her voice. He could feel Geralt’s gaze on the back of his neck, though, making it prickle. “Can he be blamed? He doesn’t _understand_.” Her voice wavered a bit and Ciri reached out to squeeze her forearm gently, wearing a worried expression. 

Jaskier pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, finally giving a sharp nod. “Alright.” He said, voice tight. “Alright, but you’ll both promise me - you won’t go near that pen until we’ve managed to at least rid of him of the violent streak. Alright?” 

Ciri nodded, “Promise.” She said, hand still on Zofia’s arm. 

“Promise.” Came the reluctant, rougher tone from Zofia, her jaw clenched. She turned her attention to her food, eating it hurriedly. Jaskier didn’t tell her to slow - she wanted to be away from their company and he couldn’t tell her no. If she needed to breathe, she needed to breathe. 

“Alright.” He said, again, and knew he was getting himself into something much deeper than it appeared. It always turned out like that, though. He’d made peace with that. 

He gave a slightly strained smile to Ciri, though some of the tension bled out of him when Geralt’s hand brushed through his hair. 

“Okay?” Came the simple question as Geralt leaned down a bit to press a kiss to his temple. 

“Okay.” Jaskier assured, turning his head and Geralt graced him with a little peck. 

“ _Gross_.” Ciri complained, but there at least was a smile on her face when Jaskier glanced at her. Better than the concerned look she’d been wearing before. 

+++

Jaskier couldn’t sleep. 

He carefully wriggled himself free from Geralt’s arms - they tightened for a moment and Jaskier brushed his fingers over his wrists. “Shh. I’ll be back, love.” He murmured, voice quiet. It took a few seconds for Geralt to release him entirely, Jaskier sliding out of bed after. He pulled on a tunic and a pair of breeches, securing Geralt’s traveling cloak around his shoulders. He briefly paused by the bed to brush a few strands of hair back from Geralt’s face. He lost years in sleep - worry and fear soothed away. (At least, most nights. They both still had their nightmares.)

Jaskier tugged himself away, then, pulling his boots on in the hall before escaping into the cold night air. 

It woke him further than he already had been, shuddering at the breeze. He wrapped the cloak tighter around him as he shuffled out towards the stables. A soft nicker told him that Roach had picked up his scent but after a soft _shh_ , he passed the stables themselves to head for the solitary pen.

The gelding was pacing. In the moonlight, he truly looked the part of his name - a ghost among the living. He was light on his feet, too, and Jaskier tried to imagine a saddle on his back. 

He couldn’t. 

Jaskier took a few steps closer, lingering a couple of feet away from the fence. The gelding paused in his pacing to look at him, standing utterly still across the pen. He pawed at the ground suddenly, but when Jaskier didn’t speak or move he calmed. 

They watched each other like that for a few minutes, just breathing. 

And then Jaskier sat down, crossing his legs and keeping Geralt’s cloak secured around his shoulders. The gelding tossed his head a little, reins slapping the ground before he broke into a trot, circling the pasture pen again and again. 

Jaskier knew what it felt like to run in those circles and he reached up to brush a hand through his hair. 

“You don’t belong in there.” He murmured, finally, and the gelding’s ears perked towards him before pinning back again. 

Jaskier didn’t know how long he watched the gelding pace a path along the edges of the fence, but eventually he grew a bit tired. He kept himself awake by humming _that_ tune, the one that he’d shared with Roach earlier. 

“You’re like us - in some ways.” Jaskier murmured, quietly, and watched as the gelding came to a stop on the other side of the pen once more. He trembled a little, and Jaskier saw past the anger, past the aggression. He gives a slight nod before he pushed himself to his feet, turning to retreat back inside. 

The cold had thoroughly sunken into his bones by then and he was a little stiff as he returned to their bedroom, struggling with his boots. He discarded his clothes and climbed back under the covers, his lips twitching when Geralt flinched with a soft hiss. 

“Cold.” Came the grumbled voice, but arms wrapped around Jaskier all the same, pulling him in close. 

“Best warm me up, then.” Jaskier murmured, and pressed his nose to Geralt’s throat, curling his body against Geralt’s. He shuddered once, before his muscles started to relax slowly, the calloused hands rubbing up and down his back bringing some life into him. 

“Outside?” Geralt muttered into Jaskier’s hair. He still sounded as if he were asleep Jaskier had to admit, but it was sweet of him to try to talk. 

“Yes. Just for a moment. I needed to think.” Jaskier spoke over Geralt’s soft rumble, nuzzling at his jaw. “I’m fine. Took your cloak.” 

“Cold.” Geralt grumbled, again, and then pushed at Jaskier, rolling atop him and pinning the bard down to the sheets with his weight. Jaskier melted immediately, sighing out softly. 

“Better.” Jaskier mumbled through a yawn that started to drag him under. Geralt hummed a low sound of agreement and settled his head more comfortably, deciding that this was apparently quite good enough for him, falling back asleep promptly. 

+++

The morning had worn on into afternoon when Jaskier pulled himself from the bed. 

Geralt had woken earlier and it had roused Jaskier from sleep, but the hand in his hair soothed him back into it. 

He was alone as he dressed and his mind wandered to an idea that had struck him on the way back inside last night - after he’d seen the gelding trembling. 

Jaskier left their room, searching out the voice he could hear muffled as they were behind walls. 

“Don’t know how much you’ve traveled recently, Geralt, but things don’t look well.” The dwarf’s voice was distinguishable first - but he’d always talked clearly. Geralt’s rumble could be lost in noise and distance. 

“Hm.” 

Jaskier reached the door, peering into the room and watching the two old friends speak for a moment. 

“I’m serious, Geralt. There’s battles and witch hunts - the world’s unsettled. It reminds me too much of how--” 

“Jaskier.” Geralt greeted - _convenient_ , Jaskier thought as he lifted a brow. 

“Don’t let me interrupt.” The bard murmured, slowly making his way into the room over to where the two sat at a rickety table. Cards spread over the surface - Jaskier couldn’t quite keep in his fond headshake. He brushed a hand over Geralt’s shoulder and dropped a kiss to his brow. 

Zoltan, despite the strange look in his eye, smiled a bit. “Geralt.” The dwarf started, gathering up the cards on his side of the table. He tucked them away, speaking as he did so. “You’d be wise to prepare them. Whether you want it to happen or not, it’s coming.” 

Geralt grunted quietly, moving a hand to grasp for Jaskier’s - he tangled their fingers together without looking away from Zoltan as he stood. 

“Piece of advice: stay out of Novigrad.” The dwarf tucked his cards away and tipped his head back towards the rest of the building. “I’ll be taking to the road for a bit. Cities aren’t safe right now - nor’s Cintra’s borders. Battlefields galore that way.” Zoltan nodded at them and Jaskier swallowed thickly. 

It never did stay smooth sailing, did it? 

“You think there’s a war coming?” Jaskier asked, quietly, and Zoltan pinned him with a look. 

“I don’t _think_ , I know.” The dwarf nodded, then, and turned to leave the room. He paused in the doorway, jaw clenched, eyes finally turning to linger on the two of them. “There are some things you can’t fight with a sword, Geralt.” Zoltan met Jaskier’s eyes for just a second and then ducked out of the room, the sound of his boots against stone fading. 

“What was that all about?” Jaskier asked, pulling back a little to get a good look at Geralt’s expression. It was carefully blank - a look that Jaskier knew too well. He was hiding something that he didn’t want to speak about and Jaskier thinned out his lips. He pulled his hand away from Geralt’s gently to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind his ear. 

“Not now.” Geralt’s voice finally came, far rougher than his expression might have given away. Jaskier sighed heavily, but leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Alright.” Jaskier agreed reluctantly, but then pulled back. “But.” He dropped his hand down to Geralt’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “That means I might be able to distract you - need your help for a minute. I have an idea for that gelding.” 

“Why do I have the feeling that it’s not a _good_ idea, though?” Geralt asked, lifting his gaze to meet Jaskier’s, voice still a little thick. Jaskier didn’t like that at all, but it wouldn’t do well to push him right now. It’d only make things worse. 

“I have good ideas.” Jaskier defended, pursing his lips. There was a pause. “This one might… not be my best, I suppose. It’s a bit of a risk, but just-- will you hear me out?” 

Geralt huffed, lifting a hand to gesture for Jaskier to continue.

+++

Geralt’s jaw remained clenched even as his hands were gentle on Roach’s lead. 

“I don’t like this.” It was low and made Jaskier hum. 

“If anything goes wrong, we’ll separate them immediately.” Jaskier promised - even though he’d already made a compromise. Geralt grunted, giving him a look from the corner of his eyes that made Jaskier wither a little. It _was_ a risk, but Jaskier had walked Geralt through his reasoning a couple of times - explained to him the best he could and Geralt was kind enough to at least _try_. 

The witcher tied the mare to the fence, eyeing the gelding where he pawed at the ground across the pen. 

Jaskier put his hand on Geralt’s elbow, tugging him back and away. When he deemed them far enough, he dropped himself to the grass, sitting cross legged to watch. 

Geralt didn’t join him at first, but he didn’t push. He knew the mare was important to the witcher and he knew it was worry that kept the not-quite-man on his feet. 

The gelding arched his neck, ears perked towards the mare at first before pinning back. He paced on the far side of the pen, not quite wandering closer, head tossing occasionally as dark eyes darted towards the witcher. Jaskier didn’t know how long they stood there, but a sweaty Zofia joined them eventually, trying to catch her breath from training. She lowered herself down to sit beside Jaskier. 

“What are you doing?” Zofia asked, quietly, brows drawn together as she took in the scene. Jaskier pointed towards Roach - 

“He needs an example.” Jaskier murmured, just as quietly, keeping the calm atmosphere. “Roach could be it, if we can introduce them carefully enough. It’s--” Jaskier struggled to phrase his idea. “She could be a buffer. Between him and us because-” 

“He’s scared.” Zofia said, bringing her knees up towards her chest, looping her arms around her knees loosely. 

“He’s scared.” Jaskier confirmed, and moved his hand to rub at her back. He wrinkled his nose a little at her damp blouse and she laughed at him, making Jaskier roll his eyes. He took his hand back, glancing over at Geralt when the witcher finally gave in and sat down as well. 

Despite how _good_ he looked with one leg extended, one bent, an arm bracing him - looking for all the world casual - Jaskier could see the tension in Geralt’s shoulders, the worry pinching his brows. The bard sighed, reaching out for Geralt’s free hand. He caught it, giving it a squeeze and meeting his gaze when golden eyes glanced at him. 

A loud snort made Jaskier turn his attention back to the horses. The gelding had wandered closer and was dancing forward and back, bumping his nose against Roach’s through the spaces in the fence before retreating. Roach eventually grunted her displeasure, tossing her head and turning to look at the three of them watching as if to ask what the hell they expected her to do. The gelding let out a deeply unsettling noise from the barrel of his chest and Roach pinned her ears back. 

Geralt moved to stand and Jaskier grasped his hand more firmly, keeping him down. 

“Wait.” He muttered, eyes still on the horses. 

The gelding pawed at the ground, making that rough noise again. Roach, having gotten fed up with the other horse’s antics, reared back just a bit - only enough to lift her forelegs. They came down with a solid thud on the ground and the gelding tossed his head, taking off on a gallop. He circled the pen a couple of times before coming back to Roach, bumping his nose against hers. He didn’t shy this time and Roach puffed a few breaths, settled.

Geralt relaxed beside him. 

Jaskier smiled. 

+++

_Jaskier’s nails were ragged and his hands were coated in blood._

_He could hear Ciri screaming - that terrible screaming that made his ears ring, made it hard to think._

_His clothes stuck to his skin. There was fire raining from the sky, despite the ice on the ground. His breath came in cold puffs and his ribs ached - his mouth tasted of copper, throat raw._

_He’d been screaming, his mind provided. He’d been screaming a name._

_Oh._

_Her._

_Eyes dragged from the devastation before him, gaze settling on the body in front of him. Zofia - blank eyes stared up at the orange sky, up at him. Six arrows in her chest -_

_Six arrows -_

_Jaskier sucked in a ragged breath, a sob--_

“No, no, no, no, _no, no--”_ Everything was dark - he was disoriented, scrabbling to get away. He shoved and writhed, gasping through tears, but the warm hands held him firm to the mattress. 

By the time Jaskier’s mind stopped reeling enough to realize that he was _awake_ , he was thoroughly shaking. 

“Jaskier.” The low rumble came by his ear. “Jaskier, are you with me?” 

Jaskier made a wounded noise and curled into Geralt’s warmth. His hands went from trying to push the witcher away to clutching at him. His whole body trembled, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he buried his face against Geralt’s throat. He couldn’t work out the words yet and Geralt didn’t press, a hand rubbing up and down Jaskier’s back. His hold had loosened as Jaskier properly came to, carefully embracing him now. 

“I’ve got you.” Geralt murmured and Jaskier’s breath hitched, hooking a leg over Geralt’s hip, practically climbing half over him just to cling to him tighter, arms clenched firmly enough that surely a normal man would have complained. Geralt wasn’t a normal man, though, and only petted through Jaskier’s hair until his tears were soothed away. 

“Train with me tomorrow.” Came Jaskier’s thick and ruined voice, muffled where he was still smashing his face against Geralt’s neck. Geralt tensed slightly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 

“Jaskier…” 

“Do not ask me.” Jaskier pleaded, voice quiet. “Just-- if-- if-” He heaved a breath. “Just train with me tomorrow. I can’t--” 

Geralt murmured a soft noise, pressing a kiss to his temple, hand cupping the back of his neck. “Alright.” Comes quiet over Jaskier’s pathetic mumbling. Jaskier silenced, still quivering a bit. 

Outside the gelding whinnied a high sound - it echoed hauntingly as his old title. 

+++

They didn’t talk about Jaskier’s new nightmares. 

They didn’t talk about Geralt’s worried gaze as he watched the girls train, as he watched Jaskier train. 

They didn’t talk about Lambert’s horrid mood when he came back from a contract, the way Vesemir doubled down on physical training afterwards. 

They just-- _didn’t talk about it_. 

Jaskier couldn’t decide if it was terrible that they didn’t - he wasn’t sure he could handle it just yet. The thought of arming them to face monsters was one thing - terrible, yes, but they could _prepare._ They could train here until they were ready to face creatures. 

Humans were another matter, brutal in an entirely different way. 

War was also one of those things they couldn’t outrun. He knew, deep down, the root of it - how she looked when she smiled with paint smeared cheeks, training sword in hand. He knew. They would come for her. 

Destiny had a funny way of running down its victims. 

Jaskier had known it couldn’t last forever - the quiet joy - but it still _hurt_ to lose it. To know it would be torn apart. 

He threw himself into training, into working with the gelding. (They’d managed to introduce Roach _into_ the pen, but no one could get close enough to the gelding to get the bridle without the horse throwing a fit.)

Some nights Geralt would crowd him against the wall, hands on either side to cage him in and just _look_ at him. There was something profoundly _desperate_ and _wounded_ in his gaze on those nights and it took everything Jaskier had not to crumble, to instead pull his witcher closer to make them both forget. 

Jaskier knew that the rest of Kaer Morhen knew that something was wrong, but there was nothing he could do to make it all alright. His under-eyes became bruised with lack of sleep and although he would smile and laugh, nothing was quite as lively as it had been before Zoltan’s visit. 

They didn’t _talk_ about it. 

+++

Jaskier couldn’t sleep again and the moon was full. So he went to watch the gelding as he often did on nights where the moonlight was enough to let him see. (It had been three weeks since the horse had arrived and things _changed_.)

Jaskier had been able to step into the pen, although he could never get close to the gelding. He’d take off first or dance behind Roach, trembling as he showed the whites of his eyes and shied from any movement. 

He didn’t think he’d be able to touch the horse that night either, wearing Geralt’s cloak and standing in the center of the pen, watching the gelding canter around the edges. He was near bumping against the fence in his effort to stay away from Jaskier. 

In an admittedly stupid move he sat himself down in the disgusting dirt. (He’d wash Geralt’s cloak later, he promised to the witcher although the other lay inside asleep.) 

The gelding slowed to a walk, then, tattered reins dragging the ground. His ears would swivel towards Jaskier now and then and eventually he came to a stop, pressed against the fence, breathing hard and shaking. 

Jaskier eventually started humming - the same song he’d shared with Roach, the same song that had been brewing for weeks. 

“ _The beast in me is caged by frail and fragile bars_ …” It was a sad and slow melody, and Jaskier drew the cloak tighter around himself as he watched the Ghost of Redania stand across from him. He didn’t look a murderer there, didn’t look fierce at all. He looked small, bird-boned and delicate for all the fight he had put up. “ _Restless by day and by night rants and rages at the stars_ …” Jaskier was half mumbling it as he swayed just a bit to the sound of the lute in his mind. He hadn’t wanted to drag it out here and startle the gelding even more. He’d only barely just begun to tolerate people. 

Jaskier closed his eyes, humming snippets of the song. The sound of plodding hooves in the dirt made him want to tense, but they were slow and careful so he kept himself as relaxed as he could in that moment. Bird-boned as the gelding was, he was still far larger than Jaskier and if he chose to rear up and bring his forelegs down on the bard-- well, it wouldn’t be a pretty scene the next day. 

“ _The beast in me has had to learn to live with pain-- and how to shelter from the rain_ …” Jaskier murmured, breath catching a little as he felt breath puff at his forehead and hair. He held carefully still, continuing to half sing, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“ _Gods help the beast in me_ …” Jaskier hummed more snippets, until the soft muzzle nudged him, and a smear of something was wiped over his temple. Jaskier wrinkled his nose, but didn’t allow his murmuring to falter. 

Slowly Jaskier moved, opening his eyes and beginning to lift a hand from under the cloak. The gelding shied away, but lowered his head again seconds later, huffing. Jaskier froze. By the time he worked up the courage to move his hand again, his arm was aching and he advanced too quick by his own fault. The gelding reared back and twisted, darting out of his reach as the horse snapped at the air by his arm, trotting a closer circle around where Jaskier sat. 

He lowered his hand and they started the process all over again. 

It took three approaches and _hours_ \- winter dawn had turned the world a strange grey-blue-almost-lilac by the time that Jaskier was able to brush fingertips against the horse’s cheek. The gelding shied from the touch at first, but eventually nosed at Jaskier’s hand. 

The bard breathed out shakily, looking up at him from where he sat on the ground. This close he could see more of the scarring, the raw spot from the bridle where it had rubbed the fur away. He swallowed thickly, but carefully brushed his fingertips over the horse’s head, until he could unbuckle the bridle. 

Jaskier carefully pulled it off and the gelding tested his jaw, licking his lips and looking at Jaskier with dark eyes that seemed far too expressive in that moment. The bit was disgusting, coated with chewed hay and bits of food that the gelding couldn’t get down with it in his mouth. And the raw edges of the horse’s mouth… Jaskier set the bridle down beside himself, both hands carefully cupping the horse’s cheeks. 

The gelding pressed his muzzle to Jaskier’s forehead, nosing at his hair. 

“We’re alike.” Jaskier whispered. “I’m not your enemy. If you’d let me, I’d be a friend.” 

They sat that way for a few heartbeats, before the gelding pulled away and turned to lower his head, pulling up pieces of grass. He turned his attention to grazing while Jaskier sat until the sun was up, gathering up the bridle and leaving the pen on clumsy legs from sitting so long. 

Geralt stepped out of the building, dressed only in his black tunic and pants, obviously still sleepy and confused - that worried pinch of his brows. At the sight of Jaskier making his way towards the building, the bridle clutched like a trophy in his hand, the witcher sucked in a deep breath and closed the distance between them hurriedly. 

Warm hands cupped Jaskier’s cheeks, one moving to wipe away the smear at his temple. “What were you _thinking_?” Hissed low. 

“He’s like me. Zofia. You.” Jaskier mumbled, tiredly, and lifted his free hand to cup the back of Geralt’s. 

“ _Jaskier_.” 

“Geralt… just--” 

“You _can’t--_ ” 

“Geralt, I’m fine.” Jaskier dropped his head past the witcher’s hands to rest his forehead against one of his broad shoulders. 

+++

Geralt herded him away from training when Jaskier fumbled with the blade for the third time. 

He was simply too exhausted to keep his hold on anything and with Ciri’s constant concerned looks, he supposed it wasn’t the worst thing to be carted back up to their bedroom. 

“You’re not fine.” Geralt murmured, as he helped strip Jaskier out of his clothes. Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt shook his head. He stepped away for a moment, leaving Jaskier sitting on the edge of their bed in nothing but his smallclothes. 

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. 

Geralt returned with a wet rag, carefully beginning to wipe dirt and grime from Jaskier’s arms and face with gentle hands. “You’re not fine.” The witcher repeated, and added, “Neither am I.” It was an admission that felt like it hurt Geralt physically to say. Jaskier contemplated passing out to avoid this. Ultimately it seemed like a worse idea. 

“The war is about Ciri.” Jaskier said, voice flat and exhausted. 

“Yes.” Geralt answered, quietly, and brushed the rag over his temple, swiping away the last of the disgusting dried mush there. Geralt tossed the rag aside after and Jaskier didn’t have the energy or the will to scold him for it. 

“And you are to protect her.” Jaskier’s voice was still as just as flat, a hand lifting to clumsily cup the witcher’s cheek. His thumb brushed back and forth gently, just taking in the sight of him. 

“So destiny said.” Geralt answered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s forehead first, to his cheek, and the corner of his mouth. 

“Do you think we can?” Jaskier whispered, chest aching. 

“I have to try.” Geralt murmured, and climbed onto the bed behind Jaskier, tugging the bard to rest his back against Geralt’s chest. The witcher wrapped arms around him loosely, settling him down so that he couldn’t get away - not that Jaskier much wanted to. 

“We.” Jaskier corrected him, sleepily. 

“You should take Zofia somewhere safe. Maybe Skellige. Crach has history I can call upon to get you safe haven there.” Geralt murmured, pressing his nose to Jaskier’s hair. 

“No.” The bard closed his eyes, words mumbled. “No. I’m not leaving you. Or Ciri. And you know Zofia would--” He yawned. “She’d find a way back. She adores you both too much. And she’s good as Ciri is with a sword.” Jaskier wanted to say more, but his words were failing him. 

“I can’t lose you.” Geralt rumbled, and Jaskier breathed out slowly. Struggled to catch his thoughts as they became scattered. 

“Can’t lose you either. Stalemate.” Jaskier muttered, and promptly succumbed to sleep. 

+++

The gelding would really only let Jaskier close for the next week or so. 

Eventually, though, he was able to introduce Geralt into the pen. It took time, and Jaskier had to be pressed up against the witcher’s side for the gelding to trust getting close. 

Jaskier wasn’t sure what the look was in the witcher’s eye when the horse finally let him touch his neck, but some part of it was surprisingly tender. It was turned on Jaskier full force a moment after, as the horse’s trembling slowly eased and stilled until it was nearly relaxed under the witcher’s touch. 

Jaskier smiled helplessly. 

Geralt slid his hand up the gelding’s neck slowly until he could scratch behind the horse’s ear, and the gelding swung his head around and scrubbed it against Geralt’s front with a low nicker. 

“See?” Jaskier murmured, not _really_ a question, and slid an arm around the witcher’s waist. 

It took another week for the girls to be able to get close, but when they did… 

Safe to say, things changed. 

Zofia had been the first to pet him, but the gelding took to her almost immediately. He nuzzled into her buckwheat honey hair, nibbling lightly at it and bumping his head against her shoulder. Ciri was allowed to pet him and he puffed air at her curiously, but he wasn’t quite as enamored with her. At least, not as much as she was with him. 

“He’s beautiful.” Ciri murmured, standing close to Jaskier. She’d let Zofia take her time, carefully petting over his neck and head. “It’s a shame isn’t it? The scars?” 

Jaskier tipped his head and Zofia turned her gaze on Ciri, lips pursed. Jaskier didn’t get a chance, his sister speaking up first. “It’s unfair.” Zofia murmured, and continued - “But they’re-- they tell a story, don’t they?” Her gaze meets Jaskier’s and he stayed quiet, letting her have the floor. “It’s a testament to his strength.” Zofia turned her gaze back on the horse and Ciri watched her - there was something interesting happening behind those bright green eyes. 

“Quite.” Jaskier agreed, and his gaze wandered across to the stables where Geralt was brushing Roach down from a hunting trip they had taken earlier. 

Jaskier eventually ushered the girls out of the gelding’s pen, delighted to find that the horse trailed after them, bumping his muzzle against the bard’s shoulders. He laughed and it carried the first bit of real joy it had in a long time and when he glanced at Geralt once more, he found the witcher already watching him. His laughter faded into a small smile and he locked the gate of the pen behind him, following the girls back towards Vesemir and their training. 

+++

The witchers, Jaskier, and the girls all gathered on the day they decided to transfer the gelding to the bigger pasture where all the mares lived. 

Jaskier had hesitantly, carefully worked a loop of rope around the gelding’s neck. He seemed calm enough and with strategically placed people he stayed on track until they got to the bigger but lower fenced pasture. Jaskier let him go there, closing the gate behind to watch the gelding make a beeline for Roach. They greeted each other with puffs of breath, noses barely bumping before Roach took off into a canter. The gelding followed and after a few moments of watching them run, Jaskier turned to see Vesemir watching him - if he didn’t know better, he’d say it was respect.

Jaskier gestured to the barn. 

“Let me put this up and then I’ll come help the girls.” He murmured, and retreated to go put the rope up. The footsteps that followed told him that Geralt had tagged along. 

A hand crept around his waist and Jaskier glanced up at the witcher, lifting a brow. 

“I love you, you know.” Geralt murmured as they ducked into the stables, Jaskier going soft at the declaration. He sighed, hanging the rope up before he turned towards the witcher. His hands brushed over the witcher’s shoulders, letting himself just soak in his presence. 

“I know.” Jaskier smiled just a little, and it reached his eyes for once. “You know that I love you.” 

“Hm.” Geralt searched his face before leaning down and catching his mouth in a kiss. 

When Jaskier’s back made contact with one of the posts, he couldn’t stifle the laugh that escaped against Geralt’s mouth. 

“We’ve got to go back out there, you know.” The bard muttered, and Geralt turned his attention to Jaskier’s neck since he was unable to kiss through his smile. 

Geralt hummed, but didn’t let him go. Jaskier would have happily stayed pinned there if he thought that they could get away with it, but he knew what he’d said earlier. So, in a move he hadn’t ever expected to use on Geralt, he twisted out of his hold. 

Geralt blinked at the post in front of him, brows raised in surprise as he looked over at Jaskier. The bard had, after all, learned that in training. He usually avoided using any of that knowledge outside of training and Geralt never pushed - but this had been chosen. Jaskier could see the quiet pride in Geralt’s gaze, but also the mischief that curled his lips. 

“Oh-- oh, no, absolutely--” Jaskier backpedaled out of Geralt’s reach hurriedly - “Not.” He finished, and then turned, taking off for the training courtyard. It shouldn’t make him so delighted to hear Geralt behind him, but Jaskier had always been just a little off-kilter from the world around him. He laughed, with real joy, and slid into the training courtyard with Geralt hot on his heels. 

“Jaskier?” Ciri’s voice was startled, until she saw Geralt behind him and then she was puffing an amused laugh that reminded him so much of Geralt’s that it made his chest ache. 

“Watch out.” Jaskier gasped, darting past Zofia, who danced a couple of steps back from Eskel to bring her sword up as she placed herself between Geralt and Jaskier.

“Oh?” Geralt pulled up short, staring down Zofia who was joined quite quickly by Ciri. 

“You’ll have to get through us first!” Ciri said and despite their advantage of training swords Geralt didn’t appear phased. Jaskier had pulled up short to catch his breath, hands pressed to his hips as he puffed little laughs, eyes sparkling. 

“Three against one.” Jaskier managed, though he didn’t sound very intimidating. 

Geralt huffed a laugh, but the next moment he was tussling with the girls and Jaskier was dancing away from the wrestling. 

Eskel snorted, but he was grinning, his sword lowered and resting the sharp tip against the ground. Vesemir even had a slight tilt to his lips and for a few minutes - just a few - Kaer Morhen felt the weight of all that was coming lifted. 

It was small, but Jaskier felt something settle inside him - the fact that they could still rejoice, even now, was proof that there was hope within their grasp. 

A hand grabbed his boot and pulled his leg out from under him, making Jaskier fall to his back in the grass. He was winded, blinking a couple of times - “Not fair.” He declared loudly and tossed himself into the fray, attempting to help the girls pin Geralt down. 

Geralt, who was grinning up at him like the wolf he could be, adoration in his gaze that made Jaskier want to melt. 

+++

They’d had rain at Kaer Morhen, but Jaskier hadn’t been there for a true storm just yet. 

Vesemir had mentioned something about being worried about the clouds in the distance earlier in the afternoon, but Jaskier hadn’t expected what woke him from a dead and dreamless sleep. 

The thunder shook the walls and he startled, sitting up in bed. For a moment he was disoriented, the lightning flashing and lighting up the room sporadically. 

Jaskier rubbed at his face, the sounds of voices between rolling thunder tugging him the rest of the way from sleep. It took a second to realize that Geralt wasn’t beside him and he pulled on a pair of breeches and one of the witcher’s worn tunics to stumble out of their rooms back towards the voices where they had gathered in the wide and open room near the entrance. 

Ciri and Zofia were still in sleep clothes - Ciri with a blue nightgown and Zofia with brown breeches and that spare tunic that was far too big, tied up tightly to keep from slipping from her shoulder respectively. 

Eskel had a hand on Ciri’s shoulder and Geralt was standing protectively beside Zofia. 

“Geralt?” Sleep-thick - Jaskier’s voice had trouble carrying. The witcher heard him anyhow - he always did. A golden eye looked back at him, a hand reaching out afterwards to beckon him closer. Jaskier went, sliding his arm around Geralt’s waist as he pressed in close. 

“Vesemir’s gone to check on the horses.” Zofia said, and her voice held a worry that Jaskier hadn’t seen shine through in a while. 

A crack of thunder made him jump just a bit, grimacing and turning his head to press his face against Geralt’s shoulder. “Is it always so loud?” He mumbled, trying to remember a storm ever being quite so bone-shaking before. He couldn’t remember a time on the road where it felt like it rattled his teeth like this one did. 

Geralt opened his mouth like he intended to answer, but the double doors swung open to reveal a _soaked_ Vesemir, storm raging behind him. A flash of lightning lit up the courtyard behind him and the older witcher rolled his shoulders, looking a bit grim. 

“The gelding and Roach--” Vesemir didn’t even get to finish before Geralt was moving for the door. Vesemir grabbed his wrist - “You know you can’t go out in this, Geralt. Don’t be idiotic.” He growled, eyes flashing. Geralt glared back, jaw clenched tightly. 

Jaskier stepped past them to drag the doors shut, shuddering - he was already damp just from that and he glanced at Geralt with furrowed brows. 

The witcher looked past Vesemir to make eye contact. Jaskier’s head tipped just slightly, towards the girls behind him, and Geralt grunted before pulling his arm away from Vesemir. He stepped into Jaskier’s space and the bard lifted a hand to cup his cheek, wordlessly providing reassurance. Roach knew how to take care of herself - Jaskier had a feeling she wasn’t gone because of an idea she had. She was too smart for that. He would have to thank her later for watching out for the gelding. 

They all ended up in that high ceilinged room, wrapped in travel cloaks and blankets as they impatiently waited out the storm. 

Well, most of them impatiently waited out the storm. 

Jaskier was under no illusion about the two horses - they’d be fine. He believed that. It would be a matter of finding them and although he was worried, yes, he was also still exhausted. He ended up dozing off against Geralt’s shoulder about an hour later, the storm still raging outside. 

When he woke up next, it was to light. 

He blinked blearily against Geralt’s shoulder - the witcher had slumped against the wall and was currently asleep with his arm limp around Jaskier’s waist. The bard reached up to scrub at his eyes before forcing himself to take in the room - Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert on the far side… 

And no Ciri or Zofia. 

Jaskier paused, but then carefully pulled himself from Geralt to walk back to the girls’ room. He didn’t find them there, nor did he find them in the three other rooms he checked. He had a terrible feeling and when he checked the room where Kaer Morhen kept its training swords - and a few spare, worn nearly dull, silver ones - his suspicions were confirmed. 

He felt like screaming and wringing someone’s neck all at once. 

Jaskier pulled on his boots and was shrugging on a coat over Geralt’s tunic when he walked back into the room where the witchers still slumbered. He secured the knife sheath to his hip as he walked, fingers working with surprising ease from practice.

“We’ve got a problem.” He announced, loudly, and kept moving towards the door as the witchers all stirred. “Ciri and Zofia went looking for the horses and they took _swords_.” Jaskier shoves the big double doors open, emerging into the courtyard. He could see from here where one of the top rails had been knocked loose on one side, a post crooked. Jaskier clenched his jaw, already heading for the stables. 

“Jaskier!” The sleep rough voice called, but he didn’t slow, already tacking up the grey mare. There was only one other horse left which meant the girls had taken one horse together. Jaskier couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. 

“Catch up to me later, Geralt!” Jasier called over his shoulder, already swinging himself into the saddle - he should have taken more time, he knew that, but there was one thing on his mind right now. “And bring your swords!” 

“ _Jaskier_!” Jaskier didn’t even look back as he dug his heels into the grey mare’s sides, sending her off into a canter that he urged into a gallop as soon as he’d hit the road that led into the forest. 

+++

The forest would have been beautiful any other day. 

The rain had settled into the leaves and everything was fresh - the sun shone down, winking in and out from behind the clouds. 

The grey mare kicked up mud as she ran and Jaskier tried to listen as best as his human ears could above the din of their breathing. He was no witcher, though, and he pulled her to a trot, scanning the trees, hoping for anything. 

He hadn’t thought it through completely, really, and for a moment wished he could _sense_ things the way Geralt could. 

“ _Ciri! Zofia!_ ” It wasn’t the best idea to cry out for them, but it was better than wandering aimlessly and risking them running into something - if they hadn’t already. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to call out again when the grey mare’s ears perked up from where they’d been plastered against her neck. He tapped his heels to her sides, urging her on towards whatever she was hearing. It only took a few seconds for the sounds of struggle to reach him. 

Jaskier leaned down over her neck to avoid a low hanging branch and, as they burst through the undergrowth of the forest into the clearing, Jaskier caught sight of the girls. 

Back to back they stood, dull silver swords brandished against-- 

A _swarm_ of nekkers - a species of ogre that were hunched, with huge maws and long arms with deadly claws on the end. They were far more agile than they appeared - Jaskier remembered the first time he’d seen Geralt fight off a group of them. He’d been nearly as worried as when Geralt had taken on a royal griffin.

Jaskier could see the nest on the far side of the clearing - their horse was nowhere to be seen which meant it had bolted. Jaskier didn’t want to think otherwise. He immediately dismounted, smacking the mare’s flank and sending her running. A dagger was no match for claws, but he could draw their attention. It wouldn’t save them, but it might give them a fighting chance because right now they were _losing_. 

Jaskier took a deep breath, briefly making eye contact with eyes that mirrored his own - Zofia opened her mouth and Jaskier _shouted_ . “Look at _me_ you _ugly fucks_!” 

Ciri choked on a laugh, panting, but when she looked in his direction all humor left her face. She’d noted that he was only brandishing the dagger, then.

The moment of stillness that his arrival had brought was broken by three of the beasts launching themselves towards Jaskier. Zofia ran her sword through the back of the one closest to her, ripping the blade free as Jaskier backpedaled a bit - he couldn’t outrun them. That hadn’t been the point. Still, seeing them rushing at him was _intimidating_. 

“ _Come get me_ .” Jaskier almost didn’t recognize his own voice, furious as it was, raised in _anger_ . It had been a long time since he’d felt the bite of _true_ fear - it made every muscle in his body tense, heart in his throat. 

He could hear the sound of blades through flesh and braced himself for impact - he was knocked back in a tangle of limbs, liquid fire crawling up his side. 

He _screamed_ , no matter how he tried to bite it back - copper flooded his mouth from where he’d bitten his tongue too hard. Jaskier drove the dagger into the side of the nekker’s neck, twisting as they both hit the grass. 

Distantly, he was aware of Zofia and Ciri’s voices, but he was too busy cursing himself hoarse, spitting his mouthful of blood onto the dead nekker as he ripped his dagger free to drive it towards the second that had nearly reached them. 

It moved too fast for Jaskier to process at first - 

A blur of white and red, inhuman shrieking, and the second nekker that had been rushing him all but _disappeared_. 

Jaskier gasped in a breath, struggling to catch it with the pain throbbing through him. Before him the Ghost of Redania reared, stomping on the nekker a second time as Jaskier’s grip on his blade loosened. 

“Huh.” He managed, feeling a little woozy. 

A second clamor and whinny signified another horse - he knew that tone, though, and he _smiled_ as Roach charged towards the girls, circling around them and nipping at the nekkers. They scattered with roars of their own, swiping at the two larger animals. 

Before _anyone_ could recover, Geralt was riding into the clearing. 

It was about that time that Jaskier-- his vision went all sorts of wonky and for a few instants he was sure he was out. He’d swear it because the next thing he knew, there were hands pressing to the wound at his side. It made him jolt and bite out a curse, eyes narrowed as he looked up at the witcher above him. 

The witcher who had a look of relief and some subdued panic in his golden eyes, growling out something low - something that sounded vaguely like, “You Gods-forsaken lucky _fool_.” 

Jaskier grunted out a soft noise. “C--” He had to swallow thickly, grimacing. “Ciri--” 

“Here.” Jaskier made himself turn his head enough - ah, so not Geralt’s hands over the wound, then. He couldn’t tell through the pain. He let out a heaving sigh. Ciri - and Zofia - crowded up against his side. They were sweaty, hair matted with blood, splashes of it over their skin. They were alive, though, and that’s what mattered.

“Oh, good.” Jaskier managed, feeling a bit like he’d been spun around one two many times on the dance floor. “Found the horses, by the way.” He told Geralt deliriously, gesturing at Roach and the white gelding who were pacing restlessly. 

“Shut up.” Geralt snarled and Jaskier grinned at him because he knew he didn’t mean the tone. He opened his mouth to say so, but his eyes rolled back and he blinked a few times blearily. 

“S’deeper than I thought.” Jaskier mumbled, tongue thick. Geralt was jerking him around a little, wrapping his middle in what Jaskier was sure used to be the tunic he was wearing before. He mourned it a little, but reached for the witcher. “Should get back--” 

“I’m teaching you swords.” Geralt growled as he hefted Jaskier up, and the change had Jaskier winking out of existence for a moment and coming to on the back of the horse that Geralt had ridden, his head slumped back against the witcher’s shoulder. 

“Shit.” Jaskier muttered and then huffed a laugh that turned into a pained sound - “The girls are alright, though.” He tried to reason with Geralt, but the witcher only tightened his arm just slightly around Jaskier’s waist - it still made him hiss and black spots danced over his vision. 

“You’re an idiot.” Geralt hissed in his ear. “You are _not_ leaving me here without you.”

Jaskier had so much he wanted to say to that. He lifted a clumsy hand to latch onto the arm wrapped around him. “Just-- a scratch.” He tried to imitate Geralt’s growl, but it was low with real pain as the horse jostled him. 

“A fucking scratch.” Geralt scoffed, and Jaskier blacked out before he could retort. 

+++

Geralt watched him like a hawk at nearly all times, never letting him too far out of his sight - Ciri and Zofia weren’t much better. 

He can remember the second day he’d really been awake - the look on Ciri’s face as she perched on his bedside. She was watching him while Geralt went to fetch something - he really couldn’t even remember what it had been now. 

“You can’t sacrifice yourself for me.” Ciri’s voice had been deadly serious. 

“Mmn.” Jaskier started, and then waved a clumsy hand. “Wasn’t exactly planning on it. Had to get them away from you.” He pointed out, and dropped his hand back down to the mattress. 

“Bullshit.” Ciri narrowed her otherworldly green eyes and leaned forward towards him. Jaskier opened his mouth to scold her, but she really was growing up - that look was far too close to the one that Geralt gave him for Jaskier to be entirely comfortable with the turn of events. 

“If I have to--” Jaskier started, because Ciri had to understand that. Jaskier may not be a true _fighter_ , but every true _romantic_ would throw themselves on a sword if it would save their beloved. It was simply the way of the heart and Jaskier could not _change_ the part of him that would put the rest of them above his own safety. 

“You aren’t going to do that shit ever again.” Came Zofia’s flat voice, she approached the bed from where she’d stirred in the chair across the room, arm wrapped in bandages. She sat beside Ciri, leaning her head against Ciri’s shoulder. 

“Now, see-- this is a bit unfair.” Jaskier pointed out, a bit tiredly, energy fleeting in the first few days of recovery. “And-- and besides, it’s not as if I’ve ever listened to what anyone told me to do before.” He mumbled, a bit petulantly. 

“We got ourselves into that mess, we were going to get out.” Zofia said, firmly, and Ciri huffed. She reached out and adjusted the blanket draped over him. 

“I’ve been traveling with Geralt long enough to know you were no match for a nest.” Jaskier mumbled, his eyes falling shut. He yawned. “I’m no hero, but I’m not such a coward that I would have allowed you to to fight alone and _lose_.” His words slurred a little with exhaustion. 

“Oh? But you have _courage_ , Jaskier. More than most.” Ciri’s voice was quiet, small, and it nearly slipped right past Jaskier who was struggling to stay conscious. When she reached out and brushed his hair back from his face, he couldn’t hang on and slipped into sleep reluctantly. 

When Jaskier was finally well enough to walk around, he’d upset Geralt - he’d wandered out of the room they’d set him up in to where voices gathered in the high ceilinged main room when the not-quite-man retreated to get him a bowl of food. He could smell the stew from where he’d been laying and he was tired of eating with Geralt alone in the room. He wanted to enjoy the company of everyone. 

So that’s how he gingerly made his way towards the tables where the rest of the residents of Kaer Morhen were gathered. He smiled a little, lopsided, at Eskel when the man met his gaze. There was something like approval there, but then Zofia was turning around in her seat to see what the witcher was looking at. She started fussing immediately, on her feet and helping Jaskier sit down. 

“I’m _fine_.” Jaskier insisted, despite the slight creak in his voice from extended sleeps. Vesemir watched him over his bowl where it was cradled in his hands, taking in the sight of him like he was considering something. Jaskier met his gaze evenly - until Geralt came around the corner with two bowls. 

“ _Jaskier_.” The single exhalation had a mix of relief and exasperation, enough that Jaskier smiled serenely up at his witcher. 

“Just a scratch, told you. I’m almost good as new.” Jaskier said, and Lambert - being the bastard that he was - reached over and poked his side very, very gently. Jaskier still shied from it with a hiss, shooting him a glare, holding it fiercely until Geralt settled the bowl in front of him on the table. He shooed Ciri and Lambert over until he had room to settle himself down beside the bard. 

“You’re lucky.” Geralt said, with a soft grunt. Jaskier leaned over to brace himself against Geralt - it made sitting up a little more bearable. The witcher allowed it. 

“Mm. I’m sure.” Jaskier said, and took a piece of bread from the table. He dipped it into the stew, taking a small bite and letting himself soak in the presence of company. 

+++

After two weeks, Jaskier had developing scars. 

Not that he hadn’t had scars before, but even with stitches these scars were red and gnarled and _pronounced_. He had a feeling that it had less to do with the treatment and more to do with the creature that caused it. 

Truthfully, he couldn’t find it in himself to be that terribly broken up about it. 

The first time that Geralt had taken him to bed since he’d started healing, the witcher had been unable to stop _gingerly_ touching the nearly healed wound. He had that sad look in his eyes, the one that had always pulled Jaskier back in again and again and again. 

Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt’s untied hair, pushing the strands back from his face and scratching his nails gently against his scalp. Something like a pensive smile tugged at his lips, thumbs brushing over the witcher’s temples. 

“We match.” Jaskier had said, softly. He thought it was the wrong thing to say with how Geralt had made a sorrowful noise in the back of his throat, causing Jaskier’s smile fall. 

“Oh, _Geralt_ .” He breathed out and slipped his arms around his neck, tugging him in to hide the witcher’s face against his shoulder. “I’m alright. Truly. I’ve got you.” He murmured, and Geralt _trembled._

Dawn found Jaskier awake. 

He’d not slept well, mind too occupied. Geralt stirred slowly, a hand reaching out to brush over Jaskier’s side as if to check he was there. Jaskier’s hand caught Geralt’s, squeezing gently. 

“Good morning.” Jaskier whispered, brushing his thumb back and forth over callouses. Geralt squinted up at him for a few moments, humming a low note in his throat. Jaskier let go of his hand to reach down and brush a few strands of messy hair back from his face. 

They stayed in the quiet like that for a while. 

“I’ll have to go eventually.” Jaskier whispered, and Geralt flinched like Jaskier had hit him. The witcher slid his arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him in close and pressing his nose to Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“No.” Geralt rumbled and Jaskier could feel it in his bones. 

“Yes.” Jaskier’s voice was as gentle as he could make it, an arm sliding around Geralt. His free hand reached up to pet through that silver-white hair. “I’m human, Geralt. And we’re--” He pursed his lips. “I won’t say fragile, per se, but certainly not as hardy as you.” He gently scratched his nails at Geralt’s nape. When the witcher didn’t respond, he knew he was truly upset. “I’m sorry. The stalemate will be broken eventually. There’s risk to this life. It’s a part of living.” He murmured, and heaved a sigh that made him ache. 

“There’s no antidote to age.” Jaskier leaned to press a kiss to the crown of Geralt’s head. “If something with sharp teeth doesn’t get me first, it will sink into my bones. And I won’t be able to keep up.” He pet over the back of Geralt’s shoulders. 

“There are ways.” Geralt’s voice came, rough and stiff, muffled against Jaskier’s skin. 

“Not ones that aren’t lost to time or that are accessible. I know of one, but it’s just as risky to try to obtain it as it is to age. It’s practically suicide, even for a witcher.” Jaskier sighed, tucking some of Geralt’s hair behind his ear. 

“Jaskier, please shut up.” Geralt rarely plead for anything. 

“The stalemate will end eventually.” Jaskier continued, because they hadn’t been talking like they should. “You could go, too. Your lifestyle isn’t kind, Geralt. I do what I can, but--” He swept his fingers over a scar on Geralt’s shoulder, too close to his throat for Jaskier’s comfort. “There are some creatures that will never know love and kindness - whether in their hearts or from an outside force.” He murmured, voice sad. “Some that do not have the capacity to feel it and some that have grown too bitter to recall it. And they tear at the world for it - they don’t know how to fill that gaping void inside. They could take you from me.” The bard’s breath stutters out of him. 

“Jaskier--” Geralt pushed himself up, pressed a desperate kiss to his mouth. “ _Shut up_ .” Jaskier allowed it if only because he had never heard Geralt sound quite that-- helpless. In a bad way. Like tears. Jaskier’s hands brushed over the witcher’s cheeks, letting him keep their mouths occupied for a few minutes with things _other_ than a future that Jaskier hated to acknowledge. 

“Last thing.” Jaskier promised, between slightly breathless kisses. “I’m going to take care of you - all of you - for as long as I can. Whatever it takes. You have to know that.” 

Geralt growled and rolled over him, pinning Jaskier to the mattress with his weight, seemingly determined _not_ to talk about Jaskier’s mortality. 

+++

Jaskier braved the horse pen around two and a half weeks into his recovery. 

The white gelding tossed his head and approached Jaskier carefully at first. When Jaskier made no sudden movements, the horse bumped his head up against Jaskier’s shoulder. It was a greeting and Jaskier brushed his hand over the side of his face. 

“Hey there.” He murmured, and glanced back at Geralt where he leaned up against the fence, watching. 

Jaskier was not quite allowed to train just yet - he needed a little more time before Vesemir would deem him in the clear. (Truthfully he thinks that the older witcher was too concerned about him and being overly cautious, although... Jaskier wasn’t exactly the most eager to get back to training and therefore wasn’t protesting that much. Or at all.)

Jaskier petted the gelding’s forelock down over his forehead, swirling a couple of strands around his fingers. 

“You know… you ought to have a name that isn’t one that people gave you out of spite.” He murmured, and felt Geralt’s gaze heavy on his shoulders. He didn’t much care - Geralt spoke to Roach _all the time_ . (There was an unspoken understanding that Jaskier would _never_ mention that he had heard Geralt call her _Roachie_ before.) The gelding snorted, nosing at Jaskier’s hip and the bard rolled his eyes. “Only care for the treats, hm?” Jaskier teased, but dug the apple out of his pocket. He pulled his dagger from his sheath at his hip after to cut the apple in half. He could hear Roach approaching. 

After splitting the apple between the horses and petting over their cheeks, he smiled softly. 

“You’ve thought of a name, then?” Geralt asked, from his place at the fence. Jaskier glanced at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

“You’ll dislike it.” Jaskier said, but it was amused and pleased. Geralt waved his hand for Jaskier to continue anyway. “Pegasus.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes, but something close to a smile tugged at his lips. Jaskier wiped the knife on the hem of his tunic before tucking it away. He wandered over to the witcher afterwards to lean forwards and steal a quick kiss. 

“I _am_ an educated poet. You can’t blame me.” Jaskier pointed out and Geralt reached over the fence to ruffle his hair. 

“No, I suppose I can’t.” Geralt huffed, fond. 

Geralt herded Jaskier in around evening, insisting that he’d feed the horses. Jaskier didn’t need to strain himself. 

Lambert was plating up the venison that either he or Vesemir had cooked - based on the fact that it didn’t look dry Jaskier was willing to bet it was Lambert. Jaskier had fully intended to grab a plate and avoid all conversation, but the young witcher took a break from plating to grab his elbow. 

Jaskier thought that maybe something was wrong at first - Lambert wasn’t known for his pauses. He could be as bad as Jaskier - although _far_ more abrasive in his opinion. 

“I’m glad.” Lambert looked like he was being forced to suck on a lemon. “That you’re. Y’know. Actually okay.” 

Jaskier openly gaped at him, unsure what to do with that. If anything, he’d expected a scathing review on his mortality and his failure in battle. Lambert pulled his hand back, grimacing. 

Jaskier puffed an incredulous laugh. “I-- don’t look too happy about it now.” He managed, weakly, trying to make Lambert look less like he’d just been told he had a death sentence. It worked - well enough, anyway - because Lambert rolled his eyes, shoulders easing. 

“You’re an annoying shit, but this place wouldn’t be half as interesting.” Lambert muttered, and then picked up a plate, shoving it into Jaskier’s hands. 

“Thanks. I think.” Jaskier picked his jaw up off the floor and wandered over to the table where the girls sat, sweaty from training but leaning their heads together and presumably gossiping. 

+++

Geralt dragged Jaskier bodily into the bath with him. 

“You could have waited until I got my pants off.” Jaskier groused, only to quiet as Geralt buried his nose against his hair. 

“I will _always_ come back to you.” Geralt murmured, voice low and firm. He squeezed his arms around Jaskier’s middle, trying to keep him as close as he could. “ _Always_.” 

Jaskier didn’t know what to do with that, something so heavy and reassuring all at once. 

“Geralt…” The bard finally started, quietly, biting his lip. 

“And-- we’ll go to the coast. Eventually.” Geralt said this part in a whisper - it made Jaskier’s chest clench tightly, as if his ribs were trying to crush the organs held within. 

“Geralt.” Jaskier breathed, brushing his hands carefully through the witcher’s hair, tucking it behind his ears. Geralt pressed their foreheads together, rumbling a low noise in the back of his throat. 

“We’ll stay as long as you want.” Geralt mumbled, and Jaskier didn’t want to hear the note of desperation that was beyond all the softness. He did, though, and it wasn’t something he could unhear. 

“Oh.” Jaskier took a deep breath and held it for a moment, trying to get himself under control. It wasn’t working very well. “ _Geralt_. I love you.” His voice was barely even a whisper, throat thick. “I do. So very much.” His thumbs swept first over the witcher’s temples, hands sliding down to let them brush over his cheeks next. 

“I love you.” The words _ache_. Jaskier could hear it. He hated that it had to, in some ways. That everything could not stay beautiful and joyful forever. 

Jaskier pulled back to press a kiss to Geralt’s forehead, dropping another by his nose on his cheek, and then to the corner of his mouth. 

“We’ll be alright.” Jaskier murmured, with enough conviction that he hoped Geralt could believe it for them both. 

War lurked somewhere over the horizon and Jaskier was not unaware of what it could look like - what it could do. 

All he had control over was being at Geralt’s side when it came, a steadfast presence no matter the circumstances. 

**Author's Note:**

> The song Jaskier sings to the horses is called The Beast in Me by Johnny Cash! 
> 
> There should be three more parts in this series in total - I've already begun work on the fourth part! I'm not sure when I'll post next, but I'll do my best. I recently got a new car (is this where I come out as partially a car-girl? on top of a horse-girl? yikes, I'm sorry) and it's taking up a good portion of my time trying to find better insurance, small repairs, etc. I have a few days off next week so I'll try my best to sit down and at least get a good portion of it done! 
> 
> I know some parts with Pegasus dragged on, but their background and bond is important for the next part! 
> 
> Uh--- I have some other fics I also want to get done so one of them might come out before the next part. We shall see. 
> 
> But I think that's all! Thank you so much for being so kind and welcoming here. I can't thank you enough. You've all already helped make my year and it's only just begun!
> 
> (I'm on tumblr as xdandelionxbloomx as well if you wanna come scream there! I occasionally post drabbles and ideas that I don't post here - some that I plan to expand on, too!)


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